The house shook as thunder roared overhead. Amelia's eye fluttered open as a flash of lightning illuminated the room. Her eyes strained and squinted at the clock in her night stand; the soft red dim informed her that is was barely three am. Sighing, Amelia closed her eyes and hoped sleep would return. Fifteen minutes later her feet swung over the side of her bed, off to explore her new residence. Her feet softly padded down the hallway and descended down the creaky stair case. The second step down creaked as Amelia carefully shifted her weight onto the next step. She quickly learned how every few steps would moan or groan, the storm raging outside muffling her movements.

Amelia crept to the door of the small cupboard under the stairs. Her curiosity got the beer of her as her nimble fingers twisted the door nob, pulling the door open. From her childhood memories, the young woman reached out for the pull chord to illuminate the small cupboard. Her eyes darted around, taking in what was stored inside. Her hand reached out towards a stack of old magazines, pulling them towards her. A medium sized tin was knocked on to the floor beside her. The dim light shinning from the closet allowed Amelia to inspect the contents.

A grin formed on her face as she held a few small tiles in her hand, each with a letter on them. She slipped two tiles into her pocket of her dressing gown and swiftly placed the rest back into the tin. As her fingers grasped the last remaining tiles, her fingers found a small flash drive. Pushing her glasses up he bridge of her nose, Amelia held the small device in her palm, inspecting it for any markings. The sound of the creaking stair alerted Amelia that she wasn't the only one awake anymore. She hastily threw the last of the tiles into the Scrabble tin and carefully placed it atop the magazines, taking a few out first.

"What are you doing up?" Q yawned, his voice causing her to snap her head in his direction.

"I found some old magazines I thought I'd read," Amelia replied nervously.

"Oh, MAD! I remember reading these when I was a child," Q absentmindedly murmured, pulling the top magazine into his hands.

Q sat against the wall next to the open closet, Amelia sitting next to him with her shoulder pressed against his. She placed the stack in her hands on the floor next to her and leaned into Q as he hazily flipped the periodical open in his hands. The storm outside had grown worse, if that was even possible. The rain fell side ways into the back of the house, the winds picking up speed

"Q?" Amelia asked, once again her.

"Hmm," he mumbled.

"How awake are you?" She smiled, looking up at him.

"Good question," Q answered, his eyes glued to the magazine in his hand.

Amelia giggled at his reply and gazed at the magazine in his hands.

The pounding at the front door grew louder and more persistent. From outside, the door was unlocked and a man in a black suit walked in, quickly shutting the door to keep the unruly weather out. He looked down and found the man he was looking for. The young man was holding a young woman in his arms, both sound asleep.

"Sir," he voiced.

"Hmm, what?" Q woke, his eyes slowly opening and his hands grasping the form in his arms.

"Sir, I'm here to escort you to MI6," the man informed him.

"Right yes. What time is it?" The young man yawned.

"It's seven twenty-three sir," he replied, checking his watch.

"What!?" Q exclaimed.

Q shook the young woman awake, frantically attempting to wake her up.

"What's going on?" Amelia questioned.

"Amy, it's time to get up," Q told her, standing up.

"I'm still on holiday," she mumbled.

"Well, you should at least be asleep in your bed," he retorted as he pulled her to her feet.

"Fine," she agreed.

"I'll be back in ten minutes," Q informed the man while he ushered the young woman up the stairs.

Q guided Amelia up the stairs, his arm around her waist to catch her as she tripped up the steps. As their feet made contact with the second floor, Q broke off from her and tore into his room to change. Amelia hazily navigated the hallway back to her room, confused and clinging to the wall for guidance. Behind her, Q ran from his bedroom and into the bathroom, a fresh white shirt, a grey sweater, and a tie now adorned his torso and grey trousers snugly on his lower half. He leaned out of the doorway moments later, his tooth brush in his mouth as he watched the young woman struggle. Q disappeared back into the room and then reappeared without his toothbrush.

"Come along Amy," he smiled, helping her toward her destination.

"Did you just call me Amy again?" The young woman hazily questioned.

"Yes, yes I did," he responded, his attention aimed at helping her to her room.

"Here's your bed. I'll be back earlier tonight. Please don't leave unless you have someone from MI6 with you," Q begged as he helped Amelia into her bed.

"Alright," Amelia yawned.

"Sleep well Amelia," he whispered.

Q carefully plucked her glasses from her face, gently setting them in front of the digital clock on her nightstand. He looked back at the young woman's sleeping frame, vulnerable to the conscious world. The young man pressed his lips to her forehead before he rushed out of her room.

"Now, Mister Bond, I am tired of these games you play," an Italian voice called out.

"I thought you liked playing games?" Agent 007 quipped.

The British agent had his forearms and calves tied to a chair. A dim bulb barely lit up the captive as he struggled to break his bonds.

"My wife enjoyed your games, but now; now my wife is no more. I thought she might enjoy one of my own games. Unfortunately for her she lost," the man gloated.

"You mean you killed her," Bond stated.

"She was unfaithful," the grisly Italian announced.

"You didn't have to kill her," 007 roared.

"Oh, but I did," he grinned, leaning in toward his prisoner.

The agent had worked his legs free of their bonds, allowing him to kick his captor in the chest. The Italian man flew backwards and landed heavily against the ground. Bond worked fervently to free at least one of his wrists. A man entered the room wielding a long knife. He swung it towards the Brit in hopes of making contact with his flesh. The attacker only succeeded in freeing one of the agents arms. Bond kicked his attacker with as much force as possible. The two struggled on the floor for the knife, the chair hindering the agent. Agent 007 had backed away from the henchman and forced the chair to pieces, leaving the broken chair of the arm attached to henchman came at Bond again, but now Bond was able to use the attached chair arm as a shield.

The captor scrambled out of the room and up the flight of stairs leading to ground level. He was then ushered into a black SUV before it barreled through the side streets of Rome. The vehicle came to a stop on the tarmac on the outskirts of the Fiumicino Airport. It parked close to a small private G5 plane. The captor strode out of the SUV and up the small set of steps, the captain waiting for him at the top.

"Signor Serpico, we are ready for take off," the captain informed his boss.

"Buono. Once my men are on board take off," Serpico instructed.

"Sissignore," the captain acknowledged before he returned to the cockpit.

The captain sat down in his chair and gave a look to his second in command. Their hands worked their clock work routine as they heard the cabin door shut. The captain released the breaks and taxid the plane along a side road.

"Air Traffic Control this is Gulf Echo Zulu Niner Charlie requesting permission for runway twenty one," the captain requested into his headset.

"Gulf Echo Zulu Niner Charlie this is Air Traffic Control, permission granted," a voice replied through his headset.

The plane drove to the end of the runway and turned into it. As it started to pick up speed it started to jump a little. As it reached the end of the runway, the plane angled upward and started to ascend into the sky.

"Gentlemen, we should arrive at London Heathrow airport in approximately two hours and forty minutes. Thank you and enjoy your flight," the captain of the plane announced through the intercom system.

Agent 007 had jolted up the flight of steps from the room he was previously held captor of. He quickly tidied up his appearance by buttoning up his shirt and ranting his hand through his hair. The sun had momentarily blinded him, forcing his hand up to shield his eyes. Bond left the building and moved quickly among the streets, pick pocketing an oblivious tourist for their phone.